


37:  It's Come to This

by light_source



Series: High Heat [37]
Category: Baseball RPF, Sports RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-17
Updated: 2012-02-17
Packaged: 2017-10-31 07:39:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/341624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/light_source/pseuds/light_source
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With effort he pulls himself away, pressing two fingers against Zito’s surprised mouth, fixing him with a look that says <em>maybe, but not here and not now.</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	37:  It's Come to This

**Author's Note:**

  * For [horizon_greene](https://archiveofourown.org/users/horizon_greene/gifts).



**Phoenix:  Tim's apartment  
Mid-March 2008**

Zito’s eyelashes are dark with wet and the ends of his too-long hair stream rivulets of water down the hollows of his collarbone onto his chest. Without opening his eyes, he’s licking desperately into Tim’s mouth, his hands on Tim’s jaws, holding him there hard.

There’s a world in Zito’s mouth, and it’s a bad neighborhood - gang tags and barred windows and guys smoking crack in the alley behind the Golden Farm.

Tim should give a fuck, he really should, he should watch himself. But Zito’s tongue’s what he’s here for, and now that Tim’s gotten it he feels like a teenager with his first dime bag, trembling and hot with triumph.

Zito’s hands shake as he runs them slowly over Tim’s wet body, barely grazing the skin, his fingers panned out rigid as though he can’t quite believe what’s beneath his hands.

Tim can’t tell if the metallic heat of Zito’s breath in his mouth is fever or stale tequila or desperation, but it doesn’t matter. He’ll take it.

He’ll take it because it’s need, the one thing Zito’s never shown him before.

With effort he pulls himself away, pressing two fingers against Zito’s surprised mouth, fixing him with a look that says _maybe, but not here and not now._

He slips out of the shower, and the door clicks shut behind him.

//

Tim’s back out on the couch, his wet hair plastered to the leather, his damp skin clammy underneath the jeans he’d had to struggle to pull up over his hard-on. He wraps his arms around himself. His fingers are cold. He’s confused and half-horny and pissed off, and he’s wondering where he got this bad habit of opening doors.

Down the hall, there’s a moment of silence when the hiss of the shower snaps off, and then the hacking sound of Zito dry-heaving.

//

When he emerges from the bathroom, Zito’s cleaner but he’s not any steadier on his feet, swaying there next to the couch, one spread hand covering his jaw and mouth as though he’s trying to make sure it’s still there.

\- You gonna talk to me? asks Tim.

Zito drops to his knees in front of the couch where Tim’s sitting. He folds his long legs underneath him awkwardly, like everything hurts, his shoulders rounding with fatigue. He grunts a little with the effort. When he’s settled, his back against the seat, he reaches back and slides his right arm heavy over Tim’s lap, his bare skin still warm and flushed from the shower.

Tim’s perfectly still for a moment, looking at it, but when Zito turns a little and their eyes meet, he can’t stop himself from stroking Zito’s arm with his left hand.

Zito closes his eyes and lets out a long breath. He settles his head against Tim’s thigh.

After a while he turns his head again just enough to catch Tim’s gaze with his right eye, the way he eyeballs a batter when he’s in his windup. Tim’s eyes are guarded and his jaw’s slid sideways, his tongue scoping a molar.

\- The thing is, says Zito, - I know it how it probably looked from where you were, at the gate. And it was bad - but _wait a fuckin’ minute let me finish,_ he says, seeing how Tim’s lifted his eyebrows and is already rolling his eyes.

\- It’s not what you’re thinking, says Zito.

Tim stiffens. He pulls his hand back, wraps his arms around himself.

\- Danny was there jerking my chain, he says, shaking his head. - It’s pretty easy for him, cause he knows exactly how to get me. I can’t explain it. I haven’t known him that long, but we’re like brothers that way.

\- Yeah, I know, says Tim bitterly - you guys are fuckin’ soul-mates.

\- He knows my soft spots, says Zito evenly.

\- He already showed his true colors, couple years ago January, he continues. - We’d gone rock-climbing for a week out in Joshua Tree, everything went great, and then on the way home he gets all quiet and he’s just like _bam,_ no warning, _sorry, I can’t do this any more, see ya_.

\- He told me he was ‘getting a life.’

He looks up at Tim, hs eyebrows raised, but Tim’s staring straight ahead.

\- It took me awhile to deal with it, says Zito, - quite awhile. There’s been times I was pretty close to hating him. Last fall there was definitely a part of me that enjoyed it when Billy dealt him to the Dirtbags - it was like ‘eat shit and die, asshole, now _you_ know how it feels.’

\- You still haven’t told me what he was doing at your gate, says Tim.

\- He came up there to get a shirt he’d left - I let him use the place in January when he was house-hunting. But it wound up kinda being something else. I think he was trying to tell me he’d changed his mind.

\- So lemme get this straight - he shows up right before spring training and up and says he’s changed his mind? says Tim. - So what’s different? What the hell’s he gonna do with his wife and kid?

Zito says nothing. He knows he needs to let this play out.

Tim’s face changes. - I get it, OK.  He’s having second thoughts, who wouldn’t, it’s tough, that marriage-and-a-new-baby thing, he wants you back.  On the side, though, this time?   His ugly little secret?

Tim puffs out his cheeks. - _What a fuckin’ asshole._

\- He totally hadn’t thought it through, says Zito.

Tim’s shaking his head in disbelief.

\- But _you’ve_ thought it through, Barry, right? Am I right?

Zito pulls his arm away from Tim’s lap and twists around so they’re face-to-face.

\- So what’d you say, Tim continues, - when he made you this handsome offer?   Wait, lemme guess - words were pretty much beside the point by then, right?

\- Look, Timmy. I’m not gonna lie to you, says Zito patiently. - Even when he’s talking out of his butt, Danny can be pretty persuasive. He pauses. - I’d be lying if I told you I didn’t give it a thought. But that was enough - a thought. There’s no way in hell I’m going back there.

Tim’s still shaking his head.

\- So that’s where you been for three weeks? Having a fuckin’ _thought_?

\- I needed some time, says Zito. - So I’m not the highest-functioning dude on the planet - stop the presses. Yeah, I been drinking too much. It kinda comes with the territory. I been abusing the free weights and the treadmills too, if you’re keeping track. I can’t stop thinking about how I’ve fucked up my life.

\- I think I got the Midas touch in reverse, he concludes, - like everything I touch turns to shit.

\- And me?  I’m part of that? asks Tim, suddenly very quiet.

\- No, says Zito explosively. - That’s the point. That’s what I’m trying to tell you.

Tim can’t look at him.

\- I’ve never been this sure about anything in my life. Anything, says Zito, heedless.

Everything’s still but the faraway barking of a dog.

\- Haren, Tim says suddenly. He can’t make himself say it as a question.

\- No, says Zito, closing his eyes and shaking his head. - You. I been staying away, he says, his voice catching, - cause it pretty much looked like _you_ were done with _me._

\- The phone works both ways, Timmy, Zito continues. - You haven’t exactly been around, yourself.

Abruptly Tim kicks his feet out from underneath himself and slides easily off the slick leather of the couch till he’s slumped on the floor next to Zito, who just looks at him, slow on the uptake, puzzled at first. Their arms and thighs aren’t quite touching.

Tim eyes Zito, his expression carefully blank, and then edges away, circling his own arms around his bent knees and bringing them up against his chest.

It’s a bullshit gesture and Tim knows it, but he can’t keep himself from doing it. He’s so on edge that he can feel the sweat breaking under his arms, at his temples, in the small of his back.

Now that they’re closer, he sees Zito’s eyes are bloodshot and sunken in their sockets, the skin around his eyes purple with fatigue. Tim almost feels sorry for him - the guy needs a handful of Advil and something hot to eat - but only _almost._

Because it’s totally unfair the way wreckage only makes him more beautiful, the lines at the corners of his eyes like the way rivers on a map empty out into the sea.

It’s all totally unfair. That it doesn’t matter that Barry’s hung over and exhausted and witless. That he’s been MIA for three weeks and that he took his sweet time getting here. That he’s probably been letting Haren pound him into the mattress - even that.

Tim’s breath is high and shallow, hot in his throat, and he can feel himself getting hard just from being near Zito. From the way his skin smells warm and clean; from the way his wet hair curls around his ears. From the way he never raises his voice above gentle. From what Tim knows he can do with that pretty-girl mouth.

And from something else, something Tim doesn’t want to give the power of words.

\- There’s something you oughta know, Barry, he says after a while. - I really don’t give a fuck what happened between you and Haren. Then or now.

Zito’s eyes flicker up.

\- I haven’t told you cause it’s not - . It’s not something you can take back, Tim says slowly. - But since you been gone I been thinking about it.

He looks at Zito, eyes narrow like he’s measuring him for a bullet.

\- Might surprise you to know, Barry, he says, - every once in awhile _I_ think too, he says, his voice quiet.

Then he cracks the smallest of smiles. It makes Zito’s heart leap.

Zito’s mouth’s half-open and he’s looking up, his dark eyes clouded, so close that Tim can feel the warmth of his breath in his own mouth.

\- Hate to break this to you, says Tim softly, - but I’m in love with you, and if Haren’s stupid enough to get in the middle of that, I’m gonna fuckin’ kill him.

//

\- Oh, god, says Zito, grinning madly, - I can see it now, we’re gonna have to sell tickets for that. Lincecum vs. Haren death-match. Pay-per-view.

\- Big guys like that’re the easiest, says Tim, full of himself, - they think they’re untouchable cause they’ve spent their lives pushing people around. But they go down like girls. You brush ‘em back with a couple high inside heaters and then something down the middle that looks good, guy always thinks he’s got it till it breaks.  You finish 'em off with a little off-speed thing to the outside corner they wind up chasing out of the box - the whiff, the _what the fuck was that,_ that’s the best part.

Zito’s eyes are so fixed on Tim that he looks like he’s thinking of taking notes. So Tim’s totally unprepared when Zito springs forward, horsecollars him, and slams him face-down into the carpet. Once he’s got Tim pinned, Zito uses his free hand to tickle along the inside of his ribs till Tim curls up like a cocktail shrimp, pink in the face and howling with laughter and protests.

\- Jesus, Barry, he hisses, his teeth bared between whoops of laughter as though he’s threatening to bite. Struggling, he finally manages to flip himself onto his back, but when Zito sees he’s face-up, he just gives Tim a long look and tickles him harder until they’re both squirming around on the carpet, laughing so hard they’re gasping for breath.

\- It’s one of the things I love about you, Timmy, says Zito recklessly, his weight draped over the wriggling and slippery Tim to keep him pinned - you’re such a _mean_ little motherfucker. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve seen you out there taking sign, and your jaw’s all sticking out like you’re remembering every asshole that ever beat you up when you were twelve.  And then you throw the ball and it’s like one of those nature shows where the crocodile jumps out of the river and when he’s done snapping his tail, there’s an antelope already halfway down his throat.

\- And all the other antelopes are like _where the fuck did that croc come from?_ crows Tim. He’s finally managed to thrash his arms loose from Zito’s grasp and is ostentatiously chest-pressing Zito off him with his forearms.  He's smiling. - Yeah, that’s pretty much what I live for.

\- That, Tim says, hoarsing out a breath. - And _this._

He lowers Zito down towards himself slowly, like he’s dutifully completing the chest press, till they’re almost touching. Then without warning Tim flips him over, pinning Zito to the rug with his hands and his thighs.

\- _My turn,_ says Tim.

Zito’s smiling, his tongue caught in his lower lip, as he wraps his big hands around Tim’s hips and squeezes his ass hard, which makes Tim’s mouth open and his eyes narrow. They’re both hard, and when Zito slides his right hand around to stroke Tim’s dick through his jeans, Tim flinches and thrusts his hips hard into the touch.

\- Nice chest press, Timmy, Zito whispers hoarsely, - you gonna show that one to Groeschner?

\- It’s the heart of the new strength-training rotation, says Tim. - Where you been? _Cardio and lifting. Intervals of alternating intensity._

Tim’s leaning forward now, his longish hair falling into his face as he closes the distance between them. Zito’s heart’s pounding, and his lips are parted, his hips pushing Tim forward, straining for a kiss.

He looks like he’s gonna get it, but Tim stops abruptly just before their lips meet. Their eyes are so close that Zito’s reminded of the first time Tim kissed him, in the old Candlestick parking lot on that afternoon when Haren’d beaten him and he’d felt his life was sliding off the rails.

\- It’s simple, can't believe you missed it, Tim continues, ghosting his lips across Zito’s mouth in a way that makes the big left-hander moan in frustration and buck his hips, wanting.

\- Not yet, says Tim. - _Discipline is the core of athletic excellence, guys,_ he intones in a hoarse treble that’s an eerily accurate imitation of Dave Groeschner’s surfer-boy training-room harangue.

Tim tongues some wet kisses along Zito’s neck to his ear. Then he sucks his earlobe into his mouth and uses his tongue to tease around the whorls of Zito’s ear until Zito’s whole body starts to shake with arousal and anticipation.

\- Here’s how the new training regime goes, says Tim. - First, I use my tongue to work over all those places on your body that make you crazy. You know what I’m talking about, he says, and then buries his face in Zito’s neck, sucking a bruise under his jaw.

\- Then I’m gonna suck your cock, taking my time, slow and deep and dirty, till I get you right to the edge, and then I pull off and ram my tongue down your throat and you can taste what I've had my mouth all over, till you whine for more and I take pity on you and finish you with my hand.

Zito’s stopped struggling and is just looking at Tim, shaking his head.

\- Always important to allow recovery between reps and rotations, Tim intones, - so while we’re waiting for you to _recover_ from that series, I’m gonna give some attention to some of those other places that make you crazy - that splitter I been working on, it’s unpredictable right now and probably too wild to use.  And I’m gonna keep in mind how Dave’s always telling us to _breathe hard_ and _use your butt_ and _take it slow up and back._  

\- And by the time I’ve been using both my hands on you - and they’ll be wetter and hotter than you remember - and my tongue’s in your mouth again, you’re gonna be begging me to j _ust give it, fuck me fuck yes._

Zito's breath's coming hot and fast.

When Tim finally, _finally_ sinks down and gives him what he wants, covering Zito’s mouth with his own, he can feel Zito’s belly twitch with the impact, and their mouths are both so hot and wet that Tim can feel his cock's slippery with pre-come and his nipples are hard, aching for Zito’s touch. But he’s still got Zito pinned, and he likes what Zito’s hands are doing on his ass and his hard-on.  

And he’s not finished, not yet.

\- And then, since we’re lifting buddies and all, Tim continues - it would be good form, not to mention good manners, for you to spot me through the same series, remembering to mix up the cardio elements so I spend most of my time above 85% - 190 I think, last time I checked.  Mind-blowing orgasms are cardio, you think?

\- You can help me find my pulse, says Tim, - I know you know all the right places. Y _our understanding of anatomy is superior, Barry,_ he says in Groeschner’s voice again, - _it just needs application._

\- And it’s late, Zeets - bad habit of yours to come over after eleven, shows a lack of dedication to your training regimen, not to mention mine - so I’m setting the alarm.

\- I’m not the one who's getting up at 6:30, _you_ are. After you’ve gotten up and done that meditation bullshit you're so devoted to, you’re gonna come back to bed and kiss me long and sweet and wet till _I'm_ begging for it.  Then you'll turn me over and fuck me awake with the most amazing, slow, deliberate strokes I've ever had, and those hands of yours'll be reminding both of us that you’re never gonna get enough of my ass.

Tim leans in for a kiss so slowly that Zito's straining to meet his lips, and when they touch, he can't help moaning with pleasure into Tim's mouth, their tongues twining, fighting.  Tim breaks away.

\- And when we’re at the yard lifting tomorrow, and Groeschner’s getting in your face about how you been showing up drunk and your blood sugar’s all over the place and you’re gonna get injured if you don’t work those triceps harder, you’ll look over at me - I'll be sweaty and gross and doing intervals - and you'll be fucking glad you’re wearing a jock because you’re gonna be so hard it doesn’t just show, it fuckin’ _hurts._

\- Ain’t spring training great? says Tim softly, and then it's his turn to moan a little as Zito slides his hand into Tim’s jeans and takes him in hand, and Tim lets himself drape his whole weight down onto Zito, hot and here and _now.  
  
  
  
_

**Author's Note:**

> Dave Groeschner is the Giants' head athletic trainer.
> 
> This work is a gift to horizon_greene, who knows why.


End file.
